


The Flight of the Winter Bird

by Ophiel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Envy Demons (Dragon Age), Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/M, Mages and Templars, Redemption, Revenge, Templars (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-18
Updated: 2016-11-07
Packaged: 2018-08-23 03:41:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8312584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ophiel/pseuds/Ophiel





	1. Someone Taller

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  
> 
>   
> 

There was always an exhilaration to swordplay. The ringing of steel against steel as she parried, sidestepping the heavy strike from the massive Qunari before her. A shift in her grip brought her hand to the centre of the two-handed blade she held, and her sword lashed for his head on the blind side, coming from below. She was so small, it was easy to get up close to him-- But his head tilted out of the way almost nonchalantly and she saw the edge of her sword scrape against his horn. She saw his elbow coming at her, he grappled as much as he used his sword. She brought her arms up to blocked the blow, then remembered why it was a bad idea. 

 

The shock of his blow shuddered through her, making her teeth rattle as the world flew past her and exploded in a flurry of snow until she stopped, laying prone on the snow. She opened her eyes and saw the shadow over her just in time. She rolled out of the way, snatching her sword out from under Bull as the hammer strike smashed into the snow, sending out a cloud that obscured her vision as much as his. But still, Evie charged, her blood burning in her veins, the hot taste of… excitement in her mouth as her blue eyes flashed. 

 

_ The soft feel of breath on her skin, her eyes stark and wide. She could not hear his words over the sound of waves on the stern of the ship, the rigging from the sails like thunder in her ears. Then the world moved around her, dark starry sky suddenly under her feet as she toppled over the side, ropes gripping her skin and body-- _

 

Excitement seared into rage, bitter, bitter on the tip of her tongue. The sight of brown eyes, greasy hair and that oily smile filled her mind like water wrapping itself around her, choking her, burning from within her lungs. 

 

She caught sight of Bull’s one eye, knowing, watching her as she charged. 

 

She hesitated. And Bull’s body slam sent her rolling in the snow again, her sword spearing in the mounds of fresh snow that always covered Haven. As she rolled to a stop, she felt the flower of pain blooming on the back of her head. Evie did not move, short dark hair splayed out on the snow as she looked up at the roiling, broken sky. Her hands and legs spread out as she groaned. 

 

Through her hair covering her face, she saw a shadow loom over her, horned and smirking and massive. “You want to get up, Boss?” Bull asked, shouldering his massive hammer. 

 

Evie puffed away a lock of hair that covered her eyes. “No,” she said sullenly from the snow. “I want to take a nap.”

 

“Ran out of energy already?” Bull asked, extending one hand down to her.

 

Evie sighed and took it, unsurprised by the ease with which Bull picked her up from the snow. She was barely five feet tall, and the shortest in the Inquisition besides Varric. She was neither dwarf nor elf, but seemed to have given up on the growing thing early in life. She felt eyes on her, and glanced up. Standing by his sparring soldiers with his arms crossed and face stern, Cullen was watching her. She looked away, feeling the disapproval in his gaze. They were both Templars, or ex-Templars, she supposed. She wasn’t representing the organization very well being tossed about the place. Or maybe she was. What pride was left in that hollow shell? “Get distracted like that again and you’ll be taking a long, long dirt nap,” Bull pointed out. 

 

She sighed again. “I know,” she said, dusting herself. 

 

“You should think about switching to a smaller swor--” 

 

Evie’s finger came up, stopping him. “Ah - we had this conversation already and I said no,” Evie cut him off. She tried not to wince at the pain in her head. She must have hit it on something hard in the snow. She strode to her sword and pulled it out of the snow. “I’m not done with you, Bull.” She levelled the sword at him. 

 

“Hey now, I’m just a bodyguard,” Bull grinned at her as he wiggled one little finger in his ear. “Got to be gentle with me.”

 

“I’m also paying you. Give me my money’s worth, Bull.”

 

“Spoken like a true noble.”

 

Evie flashed him a grin, pointedly ignored the pain, and charged. She felt her hand stinging and gripped her sword tighter, willing the mark not to flare. She wasn’t done. There was so much to do. She could not bear the thought of falling behind - especially when she walked with the Hero of Orlais, the leader of the renowned Bull’s Chargers, the First Enchanter of Montsimard, the Knight Commander at Kirkwall who bloody trained her as a recruit… She strode among legends - she, Evie Trevelyan, a silly little templar whose armor was still new and barely dented, whose sword still had a shine on it. 

 

She wasn’t going to be left behind. It wasn’t as if she were even chosen to be here because of any merit of her own. All she remembered was a woman, a hand outstretched to her, and red, red eyes. 

 

The snow crunched underfoot as she charged at Bull, her blade held low, her eyes intent. Left behind, sinking in the dark, drowning, struggling… 

 

_ Never again. _

 

++++++

 

_ She stared at the name on the yellowing parchment, the ink smudged but the words unmistakeable even through the tears in her eyes. She slipped it back into the leather folio she carried. They had found out - somehow they knew! Eduard, you fool! They had found out about him! _

 

_ She continued down the hallway, her hands gripping the stack of documents and folios meant for Knight-Captain Denham. She frowned as she walked down the corridor of the Circle of Ostwick, her Chantry robes flaring at her ankles. She wasn’t a knight yet, no armor for her. Hopefully a promotion soon - soon, she prayed. If she had to get a name off a list, only the Knight-Captains could make it happen. And she was just a novice, not yet earning her armor. Could the Knight-Captains help? Eduard was innocent! He should not be on that list, it was all a mistake! _

 

_ Her footsteps slowed when she looked up, a man coming the other way. Denham, donned in his own Chantry robes, since they were not required to be in full guard after hours. He paused his eyes looking her over. He always did that, no amount of coverage from the layers of Chantry robes could stop the leering way he looked at her.  _

 

_ She stopped herself from scowling as he entered his office, the door left open for her. Golden lamp light pooled out of the open crack into the dim corridor beyond.  _

 

_ Eduard’s name was on the list, and the words at the very top of the sheet filled her mind.  _

 

For Tranquility.

 

_ Her hands gripped the folios as she shut her eyes. When she opened them, they were shards of frost.  _

 

_ The Knight-Captains could help. Perhaps with the right incentive… _

 

_ She walked through the door with her head held high, and shut the door behind her, plunging the corridor into shadow. _

 

The training dummy collapsed to the ground, cloven in two. Evie lowered the sword, her arms on fire and her skin hot from the exertion. She stared at the cloven dummy laying in the snow, her vision obscured by the clouds of her breath that hung in the air before the wind swept them away. The world was stained green by the Breach that roiled in the sky above them, and the snow was the colour of serpent skin. 

 

She leaned on her sword, its tip pierced into the snow and tried to catch her breath. Her eyes lowered to the mark on her hand. As if aware of her scrutiny, the mark began to glow, pulsing gently upon her palm like the hops of the winter birds her brother used to summon to perch on her hands to feed. This was not part of the plan. 

 

The plan was to find him. Find Denham. They had a score to settle, did they not?

 

But here she had an opportunity. She could have that little talk with him after all. A little talk. The Inquisition needed help with the Breach. Why not the Templars? Denham was beside the point…

 

The mages would be the wiser choice, a treacherous thought came unbidden. 

 

She frowned. No. The Templars were still worthy in their way. Denham was beside the point, but she hoped - prayed that they would meet. Maker give her this one, single thing… Let them meet. 

 

She smiled at the feel of the sword in her hand and gripped it, advancing on the fallen dummy. She blinked, her eyes hardening. 

 

Just this one… thing…

 

She raised the sword, gripping the handle with both hands as the mark flared with her exultant heartbeats, illuminating her face with unearthly light. She imagined that face looking up at her. 

 

She forced herself not to smile as she raised the blade. Just one thing… Maker, please!

 

“You know that grip is impractical,” she heard.

 

“Yes, Knight-captain!” she barked immediately, and froze, swallowing the disappointment at her stolen satisfaction. Which was stupid, it was just a dummy! It wasn’t him! And she knew that voice. She turned with a sheepish smile. “I mean, Commander,” she tittered at Cullen, standing behind her with his arms crossed. 

 

Strangely, he smiled slightly at her. “If you want to kill a prone man, I would advise against an underhand grip like that. You’re going through the breastplate, where’s the sense in that?”

 

“Hah!” Evie shook her head and shifted her grip. “Under the plate sides, at the neck, at the armpits, at the crotch. Aim for the mail,” she recited. 

 

“And don’t overcompensate,” Cullen added. “I see you putting more swing than necessary into your sword. You’ll tire yourself out if you barge into your swings like that.”

 

“But I’m petite.”

 

“Just because you’re short doesn’t mean you should lose control.” Cullen paused, frying in her gaze. “Or… petite.”

 

She laughed then. “Yes, petite. I hated when you called me short.”

 

“You are barely up to my shoulders.” 

 

“Yes, thank you for reminding me. Also, that doesn’t mean I can’t swing a sword - but with control, point taken.” She grinned up at him. “You make me feel like I’m ten years younger, Commander,” she chirped brightly, leaning on her sword. 

 

“You make me feel like I’m ten years older,” Cullen smiled. “And don’t lean on your sword.”

 

“Yes, Knight-Capta--” She couldn’t help but laugh, and took her arm off the crosspiece. She returned the blade to the rack. “Hard to get it through my head that you’re not a Knight-Captain any longer,” she admitted. “I’m so used to jumping when you yelled, I have to forcibly stop myself from hopping when you’re yelling at your recruits.”

 

“That’s my job.”

 

“And you strike such a provocative figure when you yell,” she beamed at him. “All commanding and stuff. Made me tingle then, makes me tingle now.”

 

He chuckled despite himself, even as he looked away, the air growing awkward between them. Evie enjoyed the sight of him squirming. No way she would ever talk to him like this if they were both Templars. “You always had a clever mouth,” he shook his head. 

 

Evie bit back the reply that yearned to come out. Stop flirting with colleagues, she chided herself. Maker! She settled for, “I try.” She looked up at him and grinned. “You know, when you blush in the light of the breach, you look like a half-ripe peach.”

 

Cullen stared at her. “How does that even--” he flustered, blushing harder. He cleared his throat. “I came to suggest that you get your rest,” he went on, striking out for some sanity, though his cheeks remained tinged. “You’re leaving for Therinfal tomorrow. It’s going to be a long journey full of nob-- Full of trials.”

 

“Full of nobles?” she asked. 

 

“I said trials.” 

 

She chuckled. “Don’t worry, nobles are indeed a right pain in the arse. I should know, I am one.” She liked the way he carefully tried not to smile, despite the twinkle in his eye. She pushed her sweaty hair out of her face. “Are you coming with us?”

 

“I will be leading the honor guard, yes,” he replied. “But I believe the invitation from the Lord Seeker was for you alone.” 

 

His eyes were drawn to the Breach, and her gaze followed his to look over her shoulder. She smiled then and nudged him with her elbow. “Stop fretting,” she said. “It will work, Cullen. You and I both know that the feel of the Breach is the same as a Fade spell. We know we can negate it. Imagine if we had twelve of the best of the Templars - people like Knight-Lieutenant Corrin and Heinrick.”

 

“Those names bring back memories,” Cullen murmured, his eyes wistful.

 

“It would be good to have them back with us, wouldn’t it?”

 

Cullen met her gaze. “What... is his name?” he asked then. 

 

Evie’s eyes widened despite herself. “What name?” she beamed. 

 

“The one you were going to kill with that strik--”

 

She yawned and stretched. 

 

“That was remarkably subtle,” Cullen noted. 

 

“I should really go to bed,” she said in a singsong voice as she walked past him, her hands tucked behind her back. 

 

“Point taken,” Cullen sighed.

 

Evie stopped. When she spoke, she did not look at him. “Could I ask you something, Cullen?”

 

“Yes, Herald?”

 

“Evie please.”  She paused. “I studied what happened at Fereldan’s circle. I… only know what I read, what the case study tells me. But I have to ask, if you don’t mind.” 

 

“Yes?”

 

“How did you put it down? Being… being angry. At Uldred, at-- It can’t have been easy.” 

 

The question hung in the air for a long moment, and Evie did not turn to look at him. The cold mountain winds caught her hair and tugged her messy locks over her eyes. 

 

“I don’t think I ever did.” His voice was heavy as he spoke, laden with… regret? Evie could not tell. 

 

She was quiet for a moment, the yawning pit of possibility opening before her. “Oh.”

 

She heard the crunch of snow as he took a step towards her. “Thank you,” she said brightly then, turning to him with her smile that illuminated her whole face. He pulled his hand away from where he was reaching out to her. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have blind-sided you like that. I’ve kept you from your bed for too long. And we are leaving before dawn.” She gave him a little wave as she moved to hurry away from him. “Goodnight, Cullen. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

She did not look back over her shoulder as she jogged through the gates. She didn’t want to. Cullen was… What she was doing was shameful and selfish, she knew. The mages would be a safer bet, and the thought of having a Magister on her doorstep irked her. Leaving Alexius there was not a wise thing to do - not when he had the full force of the rebel mages behind him. 

 

She shut the door of her cabin, the warmth of her fireplace enveloping her. But the Templars would help them deal with that, wouldn’t they? Yes, exactly. She wanted her brothers and sisters back… Resolutely, she did not think of that one oily face. Yes, of course. Neither choice was the wiser, it was all a matter of risk. 

 

And what Cullen had said in the War Room was true. Templars were founded to fight magic. And there were all these noble houses coming along, some of which she knew, having had dealings with her family before. She strode to her bed, pulling off her armour as she moved. Many families owed her family money, if not favours. That didn’t make her popular, but they were beholden to her, which was fine. The Inquisition could benefit from her contacts, since they had given her the opportunity to go to Therinfal.

 

She dropped her breastplate on the floor where it fell in a crumpled heap before the fire and smiled slightly. Nobles were simple. And now they called her something different, didn’t they? She glanced down at her mark.

 

“Herald of Andraste?” she chuckled and glanced at the small altar on the mantle, where Andraste stood, looking up to the heavens. “Really, Andraste,” Evie said, reaching for the neck of her tabard. “You could have picked someone better. Or at least taller.”


	2. Stormlight

The air was still in the Wilds, not a leaf fluttered, not a ripple in the waters of the swamp around him. The cicadas sang their song to the blistering sky, filling the air with a shrill chorus. They sang in the heat, though he was grown enough, learned enough to know that the baking air heralded rains to come. Kovek wandered among the reeds, the smell of swamp soil that rose from his footsteps was as comforting as his mother’s embrace. He was home here, and he wasn’t so far from the Village. His parents had bade him stay close, but Kovek was a Chasind warrior, like his father was before the plague took him. Kovek still wore the bead around his neck, a bone from his father's body, polished smooth, hanging from a leather thong. His father was with him, he knew his father would approve. And he was on a mission, too! He was sure the Spirits would look kindly upon his goal and aid him.

Kovek raised the curved machete, cutting his way through the thick undergrowth of the island of solid land that surrounded his village. Every slash, every step brought him farther from the village until he finally lost sight of it over his shoulder, the last stilted homestead fading from his view. He faced the path before him and pressed on, his heart racing despite his best efforts to be brave. He tread through the undergrowth, the stationary air constricting his lungs and draping the skin with a sticky sheen of sweat. 

His sister had vanished the night before. She had run off into the Mire away from the torches of the village and disappeared into the trees. The villagers had cowered away, weeping, staying in the light, cursing the darkness. Kovek didn’t understand why they would let her go - didn’t understand why they didn’t bring her back! His mother mourned Anika as if Anika were already dead, but no one went out to look for her. It made him so angry. He was nearly eleven, a year from his name day, when he’d leave behind his childhood name for a name befitting his manhood. He would find Anika if no one else would. 

Kovek stopped and looked over his shoulder. The village was now long out of sight. There was a change in the air. Kovek held his machete out, glancing around, his breath sounding bizarrely loud in his own ears. The cicadas were silent. The whole Mire seemed to be holding its breath. The Mire breathed and birthed, Baba Woyera had said. The Mire waited now. What was it waiting for? Kovek shuddered, holding his machete out before him as he crouched, feeling shameful of the fear that wrapped itself around his heart, unmanning him. His sister was out here somewhere. There were beasts in the Mire - he had to save her! And he was a year from his name day! He would not flee! He was a man - or nearly one! 

“Anika!” he shouted. His voice echoed tauntingly in the silence before fading into the towering trees. “Anika!” His throat burned with the effort of his cries. He didn’t know why he was screaming for her, perhaps in a vain hope that her name would dispel the silence. 

Then the voices came as if carried by an ethereal breeze. Voices laughing, children playing. And his name. His cries had worked? Perhaps she had just gotten lost in the trees and couldn’t find her way back! Yet his heart did not leap at this glimmer of hope. Something felt wrong. He frowned and followed the sounds, the light fading from the blade of his machete as his footsteps led him into the shadows of a towering tree wreathed in gray woody vines. “Anika?” he called once more as he stepped into the curtain of vines.

Then the silence claimed him. 

That day, just as Anika before him, his mother mourned him as if he were dead.

 

+++++

 

“Maker, the smell is killing me!” Evelyn whined on horseback as the party from Haven rode down the Imperial Highway heading to Therinfal Redoubt in the east. 

“It’s certainly fragrant,” Varric agreed, looking to the south. Stretching out from the Imperial Highway, the great green expanse of the Kocari Wilds baked in the heat. The trees garbed the flatlands like a dark green cloak beneath the golden, stormy sunset. The setting sun set the sky ablaze, though the distant rumble of thunder rolled, heralding the storm to come. 

“It smells a little like Seheron,” Bull said, riding behind her. “But minus the sea and the spices.” He grunted. “Which just leaves the smell of shit and rotting fish, really.”

“Ugh,” Evelyn said. “How long till we’re past this, Commander.”

“A day, unfortunately,” Cullen said as he led the column. He looked back at the troops that marched behind them along the highway, two thousand of them. Evelyn was more than a little surprised to learn that they had that many recruits already, though many were still raw, not fully trained. “We should be in Lothering soon,” he went on. “We will spend the night there and proceed on in the morning.”

“ _ The _ Lothering?” Evelyn asked. “I thought it was blighted?”

“It was, but reconstruction efforts have reclaimed some of the land to the north, farther into the Bannorn. New Lothering, King Alistair named it. Unfortunately, we will be staying in Old Lothering, which is farther south and right by the highway.”

Evelyn stared at him. “Meaning it’s closer to the road,” she said, as if prodding a sensitive tooth to feel when the pain would come.

“Yes,” Cullen replied. 

“Near the swamp?”

“The Kokari Wilds are on the other side of the highway, yes.”

Evelyn puffed her cheeks as she frowned, but bit back her complaints. 

“With any luck, your nose will cease to function and we may get a good night’s sleep,” Cullen went on, a hint of a smile on his face. 

“And I’m the one with the clever mouth?” Evelyn glared at him.

“You were my recruit. I’d like to think I trained you properly.”

“Hah!” Evelyn tossed her hair, the effect ruined by the fact that her wavy hair was a black ball of frizz in the humid, fetid air. 

“Recruit?” Varric blinked. “I knew you were a Templar, Herald, but I didn’t know you were stationed at Kirkwall.”

“For a time, yes,” Evelyn replied. “The Tears were short on Knight-Captains who could train us. Some of us were sent to Kirkwall where they had the manpower. Cullen trained us for a time.” 

“I have heard about your Circle of Ostwick,” Solas said, speaking up at last as he wiped the sweat from his face. Evelyn suspected he was not taking well to the humid air. “They call them the Tears of Andraste, from when the structure was hewn from the cliffside by mages bound in servitude by Tevinter.”

“Something like that,” Evelyn murmured. “We don’t talk about that much now, however.”

“It’s a small world, isn’t it?” Varric laughed. “What was Curly like back when you were a recruit?”

“There’s a shield in your hand, block with it! If that was a fireball, you’d be dead!” Evie growled with an impish smile, waving a fist as she pretended to throw something small and round.

“I never did that with my hand!” Cullen protested. 

“You’d throw tomatoes at us, Cullen.”

Cullen paused, frowning thoughtfully. “That I did. Stop laughing, Varric, it was a necessary part of training!” 

“Some things never change,” Evelyn grinned up at him from her small stature. “Except your hair. That changed. Beeswax?”

“I-- What?” 

“Your hair, Commander. What are you using in your hair? I could use some.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Cullen looked away. 

“You mean it gets that way on its own?” Evelyn dug in. “And  _ stays _ that way in the heat when even Varric’s hair is going crazy?”

“Hey now,” Varric protested, even as his hand went to his head.

“Not… entirely,” Cullen muttered. “I’m going ahead to make sure the inn is prepared for us. Excuse me.”

The inn was indeed prepared for them, despite the fact that Old Lothering was a shit hole, to Evelyn’s eyes. The village was blighted, and it was evident from the filthy ground, stained black. But the buildings were relatively new, and the streets were paved over. “Keep yourselves clean here,” Bull said as they dismounted outside the Inn, a squat building with wings that stretched out around a courtyard. “We don’t want to catch the Blight or anything.”

“I don’t think people would live here if there were the chance of corruption, Bull,” Evelyn said, though uncertainty tugged at her voice. There were people in the courtyard, a surprising number of them. Most were Inquisition soldiers, hurrying back and forth on errands Evelyn could only guess. Some were locals, bustling to assist the forces. She frowned at the sight of one man, however. His garb was strange, dark leather sewn together with what looked like more leather. A cloak of rushes hung from his back, but it did little to hide the whipcord muscles of his arm. Yet he bowed, he scraped, he clutched at the sleeves of the Inquisition soldiers who passed by, many shrugged him off and carried on their way. 

Evelyn frowned. “Please!” she heard. “I just need some of you - help me, please! They’ll die of you don’t! Listen to me!” 

A massive hand caught her arm. Evelyn realised she had taken a step towards him. She looked up at Bull, towering over her. “The Inn is this way, Boss,” he said. 

She frowned as the man’s cries carried over the bustle of the courtyard. “But he needs help,” she said. 

“Eyes on the prize,” Bull reminded her. 

Evelyn’s eyes hardened. That’s right. Therinfal. 

_ Denham.  _

She turned away from the man begging for help. He seemed to turn in the crowd, his eyes falling on hers. Yellow eyes, unusual eyes. She turned away and headed into the inn. Cullen was there, of course, commandeering a whole table to himself, with paperwork already strewn out across it, reports coming back and forth. Evelyn left him be. He looked busy. And grumpy. She was led to a room on the second floor by a troop. The room was small, with two straw-filled cots and a fireplace already lit with a small flame that helped to dry the room. A small round table and two stools were set against a wall. Cassandra followed her into the room and sighed, sitting herself down at the foot of her bed. 

“Glad to be out of the heat?” Evelyn asked, as she headed to the window. 

“I can stand the heat,” Cassandra replied. “It is of no moment.”

Evelyn smiled. “You are made of steel,” she noted as she opened the window. The cries of the man rose over the bustle. She frowned. “He’s still there.”

Cassandra rose and joined her at the window, looking over her shoulder. “He looks Chasind,” Cassandra noted. 

“One of the Wilder Folk?” Evelyn blinked. “I had never seen one of them before.”

“Why should you? They rarely come out of the Wilds.”

“Then this is strange, isn’t it?” Evelyn pressed. “That he’s here, and he’s asking for help.”

“There are many wrongs in the world, Herald,” Cassandra said. “And not all of them can be solved by us just yet. Right now, only priority is the Breach.”

“Does it have to be that way?” Evelyn asked. “He’s begging soldiers. It must be serious. Can we not hear him out? Maybe help him?”

Cassandra glanced at her with hard eyes. “Of course we can help him, but then the Breach would swallow the world.”

“That’s an optimistic attitude,” Evelyn muttered. 

“You asked for my opinion,” Cassandra shrugged. 

There was a knock on the door then. Soldiers were carrying in two trunks, which contained Evelyn and Cassandra’s belongings. They were placed at the foot of their beds. On top of Evelyn’s trunk, was a small earthen jar with a cork. Evelyn reached out to it and opened it, and the smell of beeswax filled her nose. She laughed as she dipped her fingers into the bottle. Cullen was sweet, and not the man she remembered. 

The storm rolled in that evening, before the sun even set. The clouds thundered above and the rains fell, blanketing the world in a shroud. Evelyn was grateful for the relief from the muggy heat. As Cassandra lay in bed, reading one of her books with a hand tucked behind her head, Evelyn sharpened her sword, the whetstone sliding along the blade. Her hair was bound back in a ponytail now, slicked and kept in place by beeswax, though stubborn locks still sprang from her head to curl across her cheekbones. The sound of the rain was a pleasant balm to the mind as it drummed against the window and the roof of the inn. 

It wouldn’t be long until she could meet Denham again. Their talk was long overdue. She frowned as her wet whetstone slicked along the blade, the water making the light dancing on the steel. Her eyes were drawn to her own reflection in the blade. Of all the people chosen, in all the Conclave, Andraste picked her, apparently. She riled at the thought. Picking a nobody with enough experience to fit into a thimble, judging by the people she walked with. She was a nobody among them, and as her blue eyes looked back at her, she knew she didn’t deserve to be here, numbering among the faithful - the Herald of Andraste. 

All the blood on her hands. 

And she wanted more. Just one more deliberate death among the many. 

Her whetstone rose again, and scattered her reflection with its water as she ran it down the blade. She felt eyes on her then, and looked up at Cassandra watching her. 

Evelyn shot her a grin. 

“Does something trouble you?” Cassandra asked. 

“No,” Evelyn lied. “Just thinking.”

“About?” 

Evelyn chuckled as she looked at Cassandra. “You know, the mark, the… everything.” Evelyn lowered her eyes to her sword, the sound of the whetstone now rhythmic. “Andraste could have picked better, I think.”

“I wonder if that is even for us to decide,” Cassandra said, shutting her book. “Just one more push, and the Breach is closed. It will all be over soon, Maker willing.”

Evelyn nodded. “Maker willing.”

“I am hungry,” Cassandra said suddenly. 

“Yeah, me too,” Evelyn sighed, setting her sword and whetstone away. As Cassandra rose and headed to the door, Evelyn paused, curiosity overwhelming her. She skipped to the window and opened it slightly, peering out into the courtyard. There, huddled in the storm, was what looked like a pile of rushes. The Chasind man was still there, cloaked and shivering as the wind tugged at his clothing. Then he turned, and his yellow eye seemed to rise and peer right at her. Evelyn shut the window, her heartbeat quickening. She let her hand fall from the window and turned to follow Cassandra. 

They descended to the common room, where the others were already eating. Evelyn and Cassandra joined Solas, Varric and Bull at a long table, and a meal of hot stew and fresh baked bread was brought to them. Evelyn began to eat, noting that there was no meat in the stew. Wordlessly, she dipped her bread in. The door opened then, letting in the wind and rain, and Cullen stepped in, drenched to the bone, his furs plastered flat on his shoulders. He sighed and shut the door behind him before wiping the rain from his face. 

“Bad news, I take it,” Bull said. 

“Unfortunately,” Cullen replied, pulling off his furs and heading to the fire, where he hung them on the mantle. “Some forward scouts we sent into the Fallow Mire are missing.”

Evelyn looked up as she chewed her bread. 

“Missing?” Cassandra asked. 

“Scout Harding reports of Avvar from the mountain, they’ve come down and sent word that they’ve abducted the men,” Cullen replied as he sat down at the table. “They have issued a challenge.”

“To whom?” Cassandra asked.

“Us.” Cullen’s eyes met Evelyn’s, the warmth of the sun in his honeyed pupils now clouded. “Or more specifically, the Herald of Andraste.”

Evelyn stared at him incredulously with her mouth full. 

“Have you been annoying any Avvar, Herald?” Varric asked. 

She swallowed. “I’m annoying everyone these days, aren’t I?” she noted. “Where are they held?”

Cullen hesitated. 

“Commander,” she snapped. 

“In the Fallow Mire, we do not know for certain,” Cullen replied. “However, I would advise against addressing this right now.” 

“And why is that?”

“We have troops we can send to save the others, you have an appointment to keep with the Lord Seeker and the Templars. Since there are no rifts within the Mire reported, we do not need you to go personally.”

“I agree,” Cassandra said firmly. “We must prioritise on the Breach.”

“And those men? If I don’t go, what happens to them?”

“Our forces will retrieve them before anything happens,” Cullen said. 

“Tactful, Commander, but that’s not an answer,” she pressed. 

Cullen sighed, but said nothing.

“I think we need to talk about this, Commander,” Evelyn said, pushing away her empty bowl.

“Do we?” Cassandra asked, her eyes boring into Evelyn. 

“Absolutely,” Evelyn smiled. “The Mire is part of the Kokari Wilds, is it not?”

“It is, Herald,” Cullen replied. Cullen’s face was dark, stern, she could feel the disapproval flowing from him. Did the others feel that too? She railed against the urge to apologise. He wasn’t her trainer anymore. He wasn’t her Knight-Captain. 

She stood up and walked to the door, opening it to the storm that raged outside. The rain sprayed in her face and the winds tugged at her robes, but she walked out anyway, jogging across the courtyard to the huddled man wrapped in his rush blanket. 

“Herald!” she heard Cullen’s voice carried in the wind, and ignored it. 

She reached the man, who looked up at her from beneath his rush cloak. As she reached out to him, the mark on her hand flared of its own volition, tugging from within her, setting her nerves on fire. She gasped and pulled her hand back guiltily, shaking the mark out. She clenched her fist, pretending that didn’t happen. The man’s yellow eyes were knowing, however. She pressed on. “You’re Chasind?” she asked. 

“Very astute, Cahaya,” he smiled, his voice raspy.

“Har har,” she muttered. “You know your way around the Wilds? We may be in need of a gui--”

A hand fell on her shoulder. She looked up at Cullen, who drew her away. “This isn’t something we must deal with now,” Cullen grated, once they were away from the man, the rain and wind pulling their words off into the dark void of the sky. 

“What happens to them if I don’t go?” Evelyn pressed, pulling away from his grip. 

Cullen glared at her. 

“I am not your knight-recruit any longer, Commander!” 

“I never said you were--”

“You’re damn well treating me like it!” Her cheeks were hot in the rain. “Tell me! You know what the Avvar want!”

Cullen sighed heavily, running his hand over his drenched face. “They want to pitch their gods against you, and supposedly the Maker. If you do not come, they will kill those men.”

Evelyn’s hands clenched, the rivulets of water running down her robes masked the chill in her spine. “Maker’s breath, Cullen,” she hissed. “Couldn’t you just tell me that?”

“If you go into that swamp alone, you may not come back - if you die we lose the only means we have of closing those rifts! I won’t allow it.”

“You are in no position to allow me anything,” Evelyn growled, her heart hammering in her chest. _Water rising around her, cold and dark as the Void, the light of the moon broken by the surface above her--_

“This isn’t why you’re here, Trevelyan!”

“Then why am I here?” Evelyn shouted. “I’m not here to be used again! I nearly died - twice! Thrice if you count the Breach! I do what you people want, I spoke to the Mages and I’m trying to get the Templars. You tell me to help and now I want to! There are soldiers’ lives at risk!”

“This isn’t the right time,” Cullen grated. “You can’t run off personally when we have resources on hand to deal with the matter. You need to stay!”

She glowered at him, her breathing heavy and hard in her chest. She wanted to help, the man was sitting in the rain, begging all day for help. Soldiers needed help in the Mire, soldiers who pledged themselves not to Cullen, not to the Inquisition, but to  _ her _ . They were idiots for doing so, of course. They didn’t know her, not truly. They just saw the Herald. It was another bloody lie she had to go along with. How could she not go? But Cullen was telling her not to. Stay, he said. As if she were a puppet. Didn’t that sound familiar?

Bad orders, she’d followed them so often, never questioned. Her hands bore the blood. Could she not even decide? She shook her head and turned away from him, the hot tears on her cheeks mingled with the rain. 

Stay, he said.

She stepped in out of the rain, water pooling at her feet as she looked up at the others, all eyes - or eye, in the case of Bull - were upon her. She was glad for the rainwater running down her face. Maker, Cullen made her so livid! She straightened up and pouted. “Well, I guess that was a bad idea,” she said.

“So you… alright?” Varric asked. 

“We could hear the shouting,” Cassandra said, with all the subtlety of a hammer to the knee.

Evelyn laughed. “I guess I got excited. Now I’m all wet.” She sniffed and felt someone walking up behind her, the smell fo rain did little to hide his scent of leather and metal and beeswax in his hair. She stepped away from him. “I’d better change,” she sighed and headed for the stairs. It probably said a lot that no one followed her, and the atmosphere seemed to relax once she vanished from view. Her jaw tensed. 

She shut the door to the room she shared with Cassandra and breathed out, leaning against the wood. They had heard the shouting. It was mortifying.

_ Stay.  _

She grit her teeth. She knew Cullen was right. She should stay. There were bigger things right then for the mission of the Inquisition. They needed the Templars. But of course, stupid, stupid men had pledged themselves stupidly to her thinking she were some sort of prophet, some blameless chosen one that would save the world. 

Her eyes fell upon her sword, leaning against the wall by her bed, its blade dancing with firelight. She was all for people dying for a good person, but she’d be damned if they died for the likes of her. She pulled off her clothes and headed for her trunk. 

 

+++++

 

Rain poured down in the courtyard, falling so heavily they turned into a mist on the mud-covered paving stones. A window on the second floor opened, a single golden eye peering out into the storm, the light from within turning into a halo in the rain. A sword was lowered to the ground with a rope, before a person followed behind. Evelyn’s boots hit the ground. Donned in her dense leatherbound plate, she untied her huge sword from the end of the rope and set it in its clasp on her back. She looked up at the open window.

Cassandra and Cullen were going to be upset with her for this - more upset than they already were. Cullen would probably yell at her even more. She didn’t care. She had to do this. She turned away from the window to look for the man in the rush cloak, and nearly bumped into a leather-clad abdomen. She gasped and jumped back, her hand coming to her chest. “Maker’s breath - where did you come from?” she breathed, blinking up in the rain. To Evelyn’s private disappointment, no bolt of lightning illuminated the towering figure, no stormlight framed his massive horns. Sometimes the Maker really missed a golden narrative opportunity. Instead, The Iron Bull was lit by the falling shards of golden rain. 

His arms were crossed as he looked down at her with his one eye. “Blast it all, Bull! I command you to make more noise when you walk!” she grated. 

“Where are you off to, Boss?” he asked, his voice soft. 

Evelyn stiffened, but kept her head high. “Somewhere,” she said, stepping around him. “Go inside, Iron Bull.” 

“What?” Bull said, following her across the courtyard. 

“I said go inside,” she hissed. 

“Can’t hear you from up here,” he replied with infuriating calm. “Sorry, Boss.”

“Andraste preserve me, Bull! You heard me perfectly well!” She rounded on him. “And nothing you say is going to stop me.”

“No,” Bull shrugged. “But you’re not going to find that Chasind guy, though.”

Her eyes widened. “You chased him off?” Without the man as a guide, there was no way she could find the troops. And she was sure Cullen would wind up commanding the soldiers to throw her over the back of a horse and bring her back once he found she was gone. She turned and ran through the rain, her boots spattering on the sodden ground. The place where the man had sat, huddled in his rush cloak, was empty. 

“Actually,” Bull said, ghosting behind her and startling her out of her skin. “I told him to get the boat ready for us.”

“Boat?” she blinked. And then the rest of his words caught up with her. “Wait,” she said, turning to regard him. “You told him to get the boat ready for us?”

“Yeah. I figured you’d want to slip away. Better hurry and go pick up those soldiers before the others finish their dinner, though. Wouldn’t want Cullen to run you down personally. Not sure you could handle that.”

She smiled despite herself, relief effervescing from within as she looked up at his slight, knowing smile. She threw her arms around his waist and hugged him impulsively. “Hey now, none of that. The others might misunderstand,” Bull said. 

She laughed. “Remind me to give you a raise,” she said, stepping away. 

“That’s assuming you survive,” Bull said, following her as she ran off into the rain. 

“That’s where you come in, right?” she grinned over her shoulder, and the storm claimed them both. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little note for the readers... Evie Trevelyan is actually not a new character of mine. She's appeared in multiple works, but rarely as Inquisitor. With the way her personality has changed over the months, writing her as Inquisitor is a surprising challenge. How do you find her personality? If you could comment with just a quick word on whether you find her likeable or not, or any other feedback about her as a character, I'd really appreciate it. :)


	3. Into the Wilds

“Maker’s breath, Harding!” Cullen sighed, his tone speaking volumes as he leaned over a map of that part of Ferelden, his cheeks mottled and his jaw visibly clenching. “Can you give me nothing more than that?”

“I’m sorry, Commander,” Harding replied, standing at attention in the common room of the inn. “With the storm, there are few who were out to see where they went, but there are reports that the boat the Chasind had tied up at the edge of the Wilds is gone. Though, the way that they went is difficult to determine.”

“How can that be so?” Cassandra asked as she stood by the table with her arms crossed. 

“Because it is… a pond,” Harding replied. “The dock stretches out over a pond, ser.”

Cullen stared at her. “Is it magic?” he asked. 

Harding shifted uncomfortably. “It… is difficult to say, ser. I grew up in the Hinterlands, and even there we heard stories about the Wilds. Some people from Lothering did settle in the Fallow Mire, but that didn’t end well with plague and darkspawn during the Blight. The Wilds are alive, and the channels constantly change. The Wilder Folk are looked on with suspicion because of it. There are… stories of Witches.”

“So the Herald and Tiny escaped into the Wilds through a pond,” Varric said as he shouldered Bianca. “That’s not a bad story, actually.”

“You are not helping, Varric,” Cullen snapped. “Have we established any more forward camps in the Mire?” 

“No, ser. With the storm and the undead, we haven’t been able to make much headway.”

“Scout Harding, perhaps you could show me where they departed from,” Solas stood from his seat at a table and taking his staff from where it leaned on the wall. “I might be able to discover how they escaped.”

Harding glanced at Cullen for approval, and the commander nodded. Together with Solas, Harding departed. 

“Was she always like this?”  Cassandra asked wearily. 

“She was headstrong,” Cullen frowned, straightening up and resting his hands on the pommel of his sword. “But she did follow orders back then, at least. Maker, this is infuriating.”

“But you didn’t bring her into the Inquisition to follow orders, did you?” Varric asked gently. 

Cullen and Cassandra’s glares would have speared the dwarf to the wall were his skin not so thick. “Look, she’s doing what she thinks is right,” Varric said, spreading his arms. “You have to give her some leeway to make decisions. She managed to bring peace to the Hinterlands and routed both the Mages and the Templars holed up there, after all.”

“Her mission now is to secure the Templars, Varric,” Cassandra said, her voice frosty. 

“Perhaps she thinks she has a more important mission.”

“More important than closing the Breach?”

“The Breach can wait,” Varric held up his hands placatingly. “Maybe she thinks the soldiers can’t.”

Cassandra stared at him, then glanced at Cullen who gased down at his map with a frown on his face. “Can we render assistance?” Cassandra asked. “If the Herald believes that this is important that she would head off into the Wilds with The Iron Bull alone, we must respect it, despite our feeling of urgency.”

“She was a Knight-Lieutenant,” Cullen replied sharply. “She knows better than to head into hostile territory with insufficient support.” Even as he spoke, his conviction faded from his voice. 

“I don’t know if Tiny is really ‘insufficient’,” Varric muttered. 

Cullen sighed heavily and ran his hand through his hair in frustration. 

Pounding hurried footsteps reached the inn door. Harding appeared, her fair face flushed and her uniform mud-spattered. “Commander Cullen, Seeker Cassandra,” she breathed at the door, saluting. “Solas asks that you meet him at the dock. He has something to show you.”

Cullen shook his head slightly. “Lead the way, Harding,” he said as he followed her. Cassandra and Varric followed in his wake. They walked across the sodden courtyard, the drizzle still falling from rumbling clouds. 

“So,” Varric said, walking up beside Cullen. “She was a Knight-Lieutenant. What do they do exactly?”

“Exactly this,” Cullen replied with a note of resignation in his voice. “They are squad leaders, sometimes organising several parties of Templars for hunts and the like, usually under the Knight-Captains or Knight-Commander’s orders. I suppose I should not be surprised she has acted like this. It is what she was trained to do.”

“Lower rank than you were, I take it.”

“Yes.”

“You sound a little used to her sort following your orders.”

Cullen gave him a disgusted look. “Yes, rub it in, Varric,” he muttered. 

“Whether or not we agree, we should find a way to get to her,” Cassandra said as they approached the dock on the other side of the highway. “Her priorities are as clear as day.” 

Cullen was silent as they walked on, his face in a troubled scowl.

Solas stood at the end of the pier where rickety row boats were tied, not moving in the still water. Beyond him stretched the dark shadow of the Wilds, flashing under the tattered stormclouds, grudgingly grumbling with thunder as they relinquished their hold on the sky. He turned to them as they approached, their boots tapping upon the sodden boards of the dock.

“What have you found?” Cassandra asked. 

“It appears the rumours of the Wilds being alive are true,” Solas said. He tapped his staff on the boards and the tip of it glowed with a green light, illuminating the waters around them. As still as glass, the waters were bound in a perfect semi-circular pond. 

“But they left from here, how is this possible?” Cassandra demanded. 

“The Veil here is thin, and bleeds into this place,” Solas explained. “There are spirits here as well - wisps. With the Veil so damaged, the wisps appear to be able to alter the physical environment.”

“Fade shit,” Varric grumbled. “Just once I’d like a mundane explanation. Wind. Currents. Everything has to be Fade stuff.”  

“Alter how?” Cassandra asked. 

“That remains to be seen. However,” Solas went on, smiling indulgently. “I can persuade them to allow us passage.”

“How?” Cullen asked, unable to hide the wariness in his voice. 

“Persuasion,” Solas replied. “That is,  _ if  _ we are pursuing the Herald.”

Eyes turned to Cullen, who sighed and ran his hand across the back of his neck. “That would be wise,” he replied. “If she has made her decision, we should send her support. I will stay to coordinate our efforts here. With luck, our forces will be able to push into the Wilds to render some support. Send up flares if you can, we can try to track you that way.”

“That depends on whether we can even get into the Wilds,” Varric said.

“Have some faith, Master Tethras,” Solas smiled. He lifted his staff and dipped the end of it into the water. Glowing ripples spread across the pond, and touched the edges where grass bowed under the weight of the raindrops hanging from them. They stared as the grass began to move as if a finger of wind stroked through it. Cullen blinked, disbelieving his own eyes for a moment as the grass parted, water glittering under the storm clouds at last as a passage emerged with the ghost of a child’s giggle hanging in the air like birdsong. 

A moment of silence followed as Solas lifted his staff and tapped the water from the end of it against the edge of the dock. “Shall we proceed?”

“Are you sure they will open a path to the Herald?” Cullen asked. 

“You never know the path unless you walk it,” Solas said, and Cullen resisted the urge to cast him a disgusted look. Pertinent response, but also bordering on the bloody cheeky. 

“Let’s gather our equipment,” Cassandra turned from the dock. “If we hurry, we may be able to catch up with them.”

 

++++

 

His name was Turik. He was a Chasind from the Wilds and it showed in his sun-darkened skin, almond-shaped eyes and prominent jaw. He was handsome in an exotic way, his gaze yellow and intent, his hands knotted and strong as he punted the boat forward through the narrow swamp channel. Above them, towering trees with massive gray vines shaded them from the sputtering drizzle. The humidity had returned as they travelled through the swamp to the singing of crickets in the dark, which did little to distract from the grumbling clouds above. Not to mention the boat. Evelyn had little faith in the boat, especially when she saw that it was not made of wood, but a strange leather stretched over a wooden frame. The leather was stiff, hard, she wondered if it would make good armor. 

Seated in the prow of the boat, looking back at Turik, her hands gripped the sides of the vessel. Bull sat in the middle of the boat, facing her as he polished the blade of his axe. Evelyn felt every wobble of the boat as Bull worked his whetstone across the blade. She tried not to cringe. 

“You needn’t fear the water, Cahaya,” Turik said, his voice melodic and flowing as he punted them along, his hands drawing over the polished punting stick. 

“I’m not--” She began but stopped herself. No sense in lying when you were with Bull. “I can’t help it,” she said instead. “Armor you know. Sink like a rock.” She paused as Turik smiled slightly at that. “How - just asking, for curiosity sake - how deep is this?”

Turik chuckled and held up the punting stick. It was wet only partway. “Four feet,” she murmured. “That’s… not that bad.”

“It is not how deep the water is, but what sleeps inside it.”

She frowned. When she spoke, her voice was hollow. “What sleeps inside it?”  

The boat creaked as Turik pushed forward with the punting stick. “Look for yourself, Cahaya.”

Evelyn gripped the side of the boat and very carefully leaned over. She peered into the dark glimmering water and saw her own pale face looking back at her. She could see nothing different about the water other than it was terrifying - as it had always been. Then she saw it out of the corner of her eye. A green light in the water. She stared. It was moving, keeping pace with the boat. Then her eyes seemed to adjust and she saw more of them, swimming by the boat like glowing minnows. She leaned back onto her seat. “Wisps,” she murmured. 

“What?” Bull said, and leaned over the side, making the boat tilt.

“Maker’s breath!” Evelyn cried, hugging the prow. 

“Awe, shit,” Bull grumbled “Spirits and Fade crap.”

“You need not worry, The Iron Bull,” Turik replied as Bull settled in his seat. “The Wilds have always been the home of  _ jiwa _ such as these. They are playful but mean no harm. Though it is because of them that your people have not found your stolen men.”

“Really?” Evelyn said, carefully straightening herself in her seat as she cast a dirty look at Bull. “Care to tell us what you know about them?”

“Our goals are the same, Cahaya,” Turik said. “Our Mountain Cousins have disturbed a very sacred place. The home of the Gray Lady, that is where they hold your men. Since they have come, our children have been taken by the Wilds one by one. They walk into the trees and do not return. Anyone we send after them vanishes too. We must save them, and your men.”

“There are children with the soldiers?” Evelyn asked, her eyes widening. 

The boat creaked as Turik punted along, dipping his rod gracefully into the water. “I hope so,” he replied, his voice quiet. “The Wilds are in turmoil, and the Gray Lady protects her own. With her island invaded… the Gray Lady takes what she needs.”

“So those children may be dead,” Bull said. 

“I do not know,” Turik sighed. “Baba Woyera will be able to tell you more. We will come to the Village by tomorrow afternoon. For the night, we will sleep in a safe place I know.”

“Who is the Gray Lady?” Evelyn asked. “Is she a Witch?”

“It it best Baba Woyera explain that to you, Cahaya.”

“How are the Inquisition soldiers getting through all this?” Evelyn wondered. She looked up at Turik. “ _ Are _ they getting through all this?”

Turik chuckled, a low throaty sound. “They are trying. And disturbing the water quite a bit, and waking the dead within. The _ jiwa _ play with them as well.”

“Play with them?”

“You will see, Cahaya. The Wilds are alive and to not let in anyone without reason. Not since the Darkspawn invaded and tore through her.”

Evelyn frowned. “You keep calling me that. Cahaya, what does it mean?”

Yellow eyes turned to regard her as whipcord arms pushed the boat forward. “It means light.”

Evelyn stared at him for a moment. “I wonder why,” she murmured as she averted her eyes her hands gripping the side of the boar. This Chasind knew a great deal. How could he know about her mark?

Yellow eyes looked at her. “Because you blaze bright, and the jiwa come to see,” Turik replied cooly. “And Baba Woyera bade me to look out for you. She knows of you. Ah, here we are.”

Evelyn turned around and saw a curious sight, the waterway they were on was completely blocked off by a muddy bank. Turik angled the boat and stuck his punting pole into the mud as Evelyn watched him. Then, he tied the boat to the pole. “Wait here,” he told them and hopped from the boat to the bank, vanishing up the gentle, grassy rise to the top of a little hillock. He crouched then, and the sound of flint and steel clicked in the air. 

“This is bizarre,” Evelyn murmured. 

“You got in the boat,” Bull said with a slight shrug. 

“You told him to get it ready, Bull.”

“Well, I wasn’t expecting all this Fade crap and swimming spirits,” Bull grumbled. “But I have my axe, I’m good.”

“Would you not have come if you knew about this?” she asked curiously. 

“Would you still have gone if I didn’t follow?” 

“Of course I would have!” Evelyn puffed her cheeks. “If Cullen and Cassandra wouldn’t give me what I needed to do what I had to, I would have done it anyway.”

“Is this some sort of religious Templar thing?”

“No, this is  personal.”

“Why?” 

She glared at him in irritation. “Seriously,” she murmured. “Why all the questions?”

“Just want to make sure you know what you’re doing, Boss. And why - that’s the more important question.”

She glanced away. “I led Templar squads in the Free Marches hunting for Apostates and rogue Templars. You have to get your hands dirty if you want results. I can’t do the ivory tower approach the way Cullen does.”

“Right, but there’s more, isn’t there?”

She sighed in frustration. “Stop being so Ben Hassrath about this, Bull.”

“Come on, Boss. Can’t be that hard to answer the question, right?”

She glowered at him. 

“Besides, you’re easier to read than a Chantry sister’s sins.”

“What sort of comparison is that!” she snapped. 

“Cahaya!” 

She looked away and gratefully, but carefully, climbed out of the boat. It felt good to be on solid ground again. She headed towards Turik, and found that he had a fire lit at the very crest of the hillock. He squatted beside it, poking the flames with a knotted stick. “Where did you get dry wood to burn?” she asked curiously. 

“It is not wood,” he smiled. “It is dung.”

“Urgh!” The sound came out before Evelyn could stop herself. “I mean - I see,” she added lamely. 

Turik laughed. “Sit and rest. I will bring some food.”

He stood as Bull approached on quiet feet. “And stay by the flames,” Turik went on. “All is not what it seems here in the Wilds. What looks like solid ground may send you into the water, and the  _ jiwa _ love to play.”

Evelyn paled at the thought and sat herself firmly on the surprisingly dry ground by the flames. “We’ll stay right here,” she murmured. “Don’t you worry.”

“What’s the deal with you and water?” Bull asked as he settled down on the ground. 

“Old childhood hang up,” Evelyn muttered. “I just hate swimming, alright? Also armor. Sink like a rock.”

They sat drying themselves by the fire until Turik returned with speared fish. That took Evelyn by surprise. Somehow, Turik had speared fish at night, but as he skewered them on sticks and stood them by the fire, the light glinted in his yellow eyes. The wisps followed his boat, he could see through anything, it seemed. She began to wonder if there was more to Turik than he let on. 

His eyes locked with hers then, glittering and soulful like shards of sunlight. They called to mind another’s eyes, honeyed like a gentle sunset. She looked away, hating that her cheeks felt hot. Stupid childishness. She saw Bull watching her, and he grinned so insufferably she decided to pointedly ignore him. “So what are you really, Turik?” she asked wanting to change the topic, knowingly hugging her knees. “Like… what do you do?”

“I hunt,” he replied coolly as he settled on the ground, crossing his legs. “My people need meats and skins. I gather them. It is a thankless job.”

“Thankless?” 

“My people believe that the Wilds are sacred. Some of the creatures I hunt are precious to us and our tribes.”

“Like… you worship them?”

“No, but they are guardians. And it is my duty to slay them for their skin and meat. It is considered a great wrong, and makes us unclean.”

“You hunt for something your people desperately need yet you are unclean?” she blinked. But that was not so unfamiliar. Look at how Mages were treated - and Templars. 

“Twould appear so,” he smiled. “Yet, I perform a necessary duty. I am at peace.” He paused and looked out over the waters into the darkness of the Wilds. Then he smiled. “You will learn more when we arrive at my village, Cahaya. For now, get your rest. It is many hours since sunset. I will keep watch.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slow burn, I know, not much technically happens here. But more will come as the mystery deepens about the Gray Lady :)


	4. The Seer

It was not a good sleep. The ground was strangely soft, something she wasn’t used to. Turik had brought out a rush roll, which was lined with more of that strange leather. He had offered it to her and though she had refused, he seemed insistent. She accepted it anyway and slept till it was her turn to keep watch. She sat in the night with her back to their small fire, the sky above her seemed to be tattered now, the storm abating and the low gray clouds allowed the green glow of the Breach to shine through. She sat with her arms resting on her legs, her sword beside her, staring up at the sky.

Almost instinctively, her hands wrung together, her thumb rubbing the mark. When she thought about the Breach, the damn mark would begin to tingle, sometimes sting. It felt like lyrium, but older, stubborn, alive almost in its eagerness to flare, chomping at the bit to burst to life. Whatever magic this was, it took quite a bit of her templar training to suppress it. If she lost focus, it tended to… do whatever.

A templar with a magic hand - Andraste had a sense of humour. Even more so for picking her, of all people. Maker. They wanted her to make decisions to heal the sky. She would do that, of course. That’s what Therinfal was all about, by and large. But there were more important things than the sky, right?

She pulled her hands apart, forcing herself not to think of the mark. Belaboring one’s decisions also was not beneficial, even when done in private. There was a need, she was addressing it. She just wished it wasn’t so hard for the others to see it. All they eemed to look at was the Sky. Even Cullen. That slightly disappointed her.

The faint tendrils of dawn began to creep across the sky. Steely light stained green by the glow of the Breach. The pond they were in was illuminated now, trees ringing them and the island that adjoined them. Where the channel was the night before was…

She blinked and rose to her feet suddenly. Bull and Turik roused at once with her quick movement, Bull’s hand moving to his sword. “What is it--” he said, alert, as if he hadn’t even been asleep, despite snoring earlier.

Evelyn stared, her eyes trying to make sense of what she was seeing. There was grass right by the boat the night before, grass that reached up their little hillock, which was now an island. But it seemed as if overnight, the whole Wilds had changed around them, from thick forests to their now serene pond. “What’s going on, Turik?” she asked. “Is this magic?”

Turik laughed and her cheeks puffed in annoyance. “Yes, and no,” he replied.

“That is both an answer, and not an answer,” she snapped.

“Be still, Cahaya, it is the jiwa playing with us again.” He stood up and adjusted his rush robes.

“Those wisps move the Wilds around? There were trees right up against us!”

“It happens,” Turik shrugged insufferably.

“Ugh,” Bull growled. “This jiwa-spirit crap is getting to me, Boss.”

Then, a voice rang out over the waters. “What is the meaning of this?” Evelyn turned and peered at the other island. There were people moving about there!

“No!” she laughed, a slow smile creeping across her face. She took few steps closer to the water’s edge, and peered closer as the figures that moved. Two tall, one with a staff, and one stocky and short. Her eyes widened and she started to wave. “Seeker!” she shouted. “Varric! Solas!”

“Is that--” she heard Cassandra say. Having her not bark everything out was an exercise in futility, and it was clear she was used to yelling anyway. “What in Andraste’s name is going on here?”

Evelyn cupped her hands around her mouth. “Good to see you!” she flashed a grin. “Come over!”

Turik patted her on her shoulder, and she paused to look up at him. “Tell them that it is not necessary,” he said.

“Wait, it’s not necessary!” Evelyn shouted across.

“The island will move over,” Turik added.

“The island will move ov-- wait, what?”

“Maker!” came Cassandra’s voice.

Evelyn stared in incredulity as the ripples in the still pond began to waver the surface of the water. Her jaw dropped as her hands fell slowly from around her lips. The island drifted over on a still pond, moved by by neither current or wind. Yet, for all her eyes could see, the others stood on ground that seemed solid, with grass growing upon it.

She looked down at the ground under her feet and stomped down once or twice, hearing the comforting thud of earth under her boot.

“Oh no,” she murmured as her eyes rose slowly, suddenly full of dread.

“Don’t worry,” Bull said, stepping up beside her, his axe over his shoulder. “I’m sure the Seeker’s not going to be angry with you.”

“No, it’s not that,” Evelyn groaned. “Solas is going to talk nonstop about the Fade because of this.”

Bull’s roaring laughter rang out over the waters as the other island reached them, bumping against theirs lightly.

“Well, that was something. Hey, Tiny, Herald… Chasind fellow?” Varric said, hopping over to their island quicker than the rest. “That somehow feels better.”

“Greetings,” Turik smiled, seeming pleased to see the dwarf.

“Fascinating,” Solas began. “The wisps--”

“How did you three make it out here?” Evelyn asked quickly. “Also, they are called jiwa, Solas.”

“We took a boat,” Cassandra said evenly.

Evelyn beamed up at that intense glare and waited, her hands behind her back.

Cassandra stared at her, and then, an immaculate eyebrow arched.

Evelyn blinked. “No yelling?”

“That’s Cullen’s job,” Cassandra replied with a straight face.

Evelyn grinned up at her. “We have soldiers to save, and children to rescue, apparently,” she said, the relief in her eyes genuine. “And I’m glad for the reinforcements.”

“Commander’s orders,” Cassandra shrugged.

Evelyn’s smile softened. “Good,” she said.

“Awe,” Varric cooed.

“Don’t even start,” Evelyn cut in and picked up her sword. “Let’s go then. Everyone, meet Turik, our guide. A hunter in the Wilds. He will be bringing us to his village. Turik, this is Seeker Cassandra, Varric and Solas.”

Turik bowed his greeting with surprising urbanism. “We must hurry,” Turik said. “With two boats, we should be able to arrive at our village before the sun crests the sky.”

They redistributed themselves between the two boats. Bull seated in the wider row boat with Cassandra and Solas, while Varric and Evelyn rode in Turik’s leather craft in the lead. The farther they travelled, the less of the sun they saw. Trees began to grow higher and higher around them, their crowns spreading out overhead, turning the air beneath green with the sun’s glow through the dense canopy. The singing of the cicadas hung in the air as strange birds cawed overhead. Evelyn peered up at the green leaves above, spindly gray wines hanging from the high branches stroked their fingers upon the water.

Laughter rang out in the air. She turned, looking over her shoulder. No one seemed to react. She was hearing things. There was no doubt the Veil was thin here, so much so that it was hard to pinpoint where any spirits were, or demons for that matter. The air was saturated with the sensation of spirits - the tingle on the skin, the strange taste upon the tongue. She swatted at a mosquito on her neck. The damn beasts were killing her. “How’s the bugs, Bull?” she asked curiously, calling over her shoulder.

“Nah, none of them can get through my skin,” Bull waved a hand. Bull did look disgustingly comfortable. Behind him, Cassandra made a disgusted noise, and swatted away a mosquito from her face.

“You’re not making friends with that attitude, Bull,” Evelyn grumbled.

“Solas isn’t getting bitten.”

Solas simply smiled, and a barely visible spark flashed on his skin as a bug met its death upon his barrier. “You could have cast that on all of us!” Evelyn snapped.

“You need but ask,” Solas replied. “Though I thought with your armor, you were immune already.”

Evelyn laughed despite herself. “Smart arse,” she mumbled and sat back down.

The air of the swamp was dank and humid, amid the buzzing of flies and the constant miasma of mosquitos. True to Turik’s words, they emerged from the winding channel into what appeared to be a lake in the Wilds, though towering trees on immobile islets shaded the waters from the sun that dappled the surface of the water, scattered into shards in the wake of their passing. Beyond the lake, a stilt village rose from the waters, elaborately crafted of wood and more of the stretched leather across the walls. The village rose level upon level, a tiered little town dominated by a massive longhouse at the highest tier.

Turik punted them to the numerous docks that stretched out into the water. The air was dominated by the smell of fish as he tied the boat up to the dock. When Evelyn disembarked onto the blessedly solid dock, she realized that aside from the singing insects in the humid afternoon, the village appeared deserted. “Where is everyone?” she asked softly.

“They are in Baba Woyera’s hall,” Turik replied. He looked at the party gathered on the dock, his hand rubbing his chin. “Perhaps the Qunari and Seeker can wait elsewhere,” he suggested. “My people are not so eager to see those as heavily armed as you. Tis possible that some may overreact. I will bring the Cahaya, Varric and Solas to speak to Baba Woyera.”

“Right,” Evelyn nodded.

“You sure?” Varric asked.

“Oh yes, our people have great respect for _bumiputra_ such as you, Varric,” Turik replied.

“What now?”

“Children of the earth.” Turik turned to Cassandra and Bull. “Head down the dock to the last house. There you will find a courtyard of skins. Wait in the house. Be mindful, if you please. Within the house a woman rests. She will not wake with your arrival, but… be mindful.”

Bull and Cassandra nodded. “If you need us, just call,” Cassandra said.

“Will do,” Evelyn grinned, though she was certain that would not be needed. She had a sword of her own, and the mark, and Turik, who seemed genuinely trustworthy.

He led the way up the ramps to the upper levels with Evelyn, Varric and Solas following him. Varric looked particularly nervous. “Is anyone else finding this shit weird?” the dwarf muttered.

“These people seem genuinely in need of help,” Solas replied.

“And when has anything been normal to begin with,” Evelyn added. “We’re fighting a hole in the sky. I’d say we’re hip-deep in weird already.”

Varric sighed. “Yeah, I was trying not to think about that,” he muttered. “So, why do you guys like bumi-bumipo- dwarves?”

“They find solid ground for us,” Turik replied “They are respected. And expensive.”

“Yeah, you must mean those Orzammar dwarves,” Varric said. “We surfacers don’t really have that sort of stone sense.”

Turik smiled mysteriously and said nothing.

They ascended to the highest longhouse, torches of green flame burning by the door. The murmuring of voices could be heard from within. “Can you feel it?” Solas asked. Evelyn knew what Solas meant, a dry metal tang in the air that hung on the tongue, making her mark itch to flare.

“The Veil is thin?” Varric asked.

Evelyn and Solas stared at the dwarf incredulously.

Varric looked at them. “What else would it be if not some Veil stuff?”

“You’re not wrong,” Evelyn said.

Turik opened the door to the longhouse and silence fell within like an axe. Evelyn could feel eyes on her, on her glinting armor, her sword across her back. The smell from within was that of many unwashed bodies in the still air. She clenched her marked fist and stepped into the gloom beyond the torches. Once her eyes adjusted, she saw people huddled in the darkness upon the floor, all lying on mats of those strange leathers and rushes. There were women there, holding babes in arms, old men and women curled up on the mats. The men leaned against the walls, hands subtly reaching under their leathers. Evelyn pretended not to notice. They were not here to fight, but there was a gaunt look of desperation and anger in their eyes. It was the look of men who were helpless, desperate and itching to prove that they were otherwise. At the far end of the longhouse, a stone pit was lit with more green flame, illuminating a bundle of rags upon a raised dais.

The tapping of their feet on the wooden floor and the jingling of their armor was oddly loud as Turik led them down the longhouse. Just as they neared the firepit, Evelyn saw one of the men move from the shadows. Her hand reached for her weapon, but the man, snarling, grabbed Turik by the lapels of his leathers and almost lifted him off his feet. “ _Celaka!_ ” he snarled into Turik’s impassive face. “ _Kenapa awak membawa mereka di sini?_ ”

“ _Biarkan dia!_ ” a voice cracked like a whip.

The man grit his teeth and spat into Turik’s face. Evelyn grit her teeth, her cheeks beginning to burn with anger, but Turik remained impassive. When the man stepped away from Turik, he simply wiped his face and approached the dais.

Turik gestured to the dais. “You will sit here,” he said to them. “Baba Woyera will speak with you.” He turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Evelyn asked.

“I will wait for you outside.” And he left under the glare of the villagers in the longhouse. She grit her teeth. Turik was not looked upon kindly, even though he had brought help for the village. She lowered her eyes. Just like mages, really.

She felt a gaze upon her that seemed to strip her to her secret thoughts. She turned and looked at the pile of rags beyond the green flame and her eyes widened. Seated there, huddled in what appeared to be rags and tatters of leathers, were two women. Their faces were wrinkled with age, each had eyes that were shrouded with gray, glittering in their dark skin. A left hand stretched from under the rags, and a right from the other side. Evelyn could not keep her eyes from widening. “Sit,” said a head, patting the ground next to her.

Evelyn glanced at Varric and Solas and moved to sit herself down by the fire, to the right of the strange woman. Varric and Solas too seated themselves down. “Seems to me, seems to me Turik has brought distinguished help,” the woman said. “Reaching, reaching for pasts - old songs, old echoes in the new dawn.”

Evelyn stared, perplexed. “Uh, we’re here to find our missing soldiers,” she tried. “And I hear--”

“Shut up.”

Evelyn gaped. A hand reached out and slapped over Varric’s face blindly, yet with surprising accuracy. The dwarf froze. “Old songs, yes. Old songs, child of the earth never forgets even if he wants,” one of the heads grinned. The other head spoke up, her toothless gums flashing, “And old echoes I hear too. Old, old. How odd. Older than the Gray Lady, I wonder? Older than the mountain cousins’ gods.”

The hand fell from Varric’s affronted face. “That’s-- weird,” he grumbled, and shifted from the woman.

“Weird,” the heads said in unison and both broke out in cackles. “Weird, says he. Does he not know who he walks with?” Blind eyes turned to Evelyn, looking at her with an oddly intent gaze. “Helpful,” she murmured. “Helpful but hurt, reaching beyond the blue is your blood. Blazing in the night with green. How sweet must be the lights…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” Evelyn muttered.

“Bright but stupid.”

“Hey!” Evelyn exclaimed, but a hand slapped over her face as well, bony and cold fingers holding her still, her muscles freezing. They seemed to reach inside her, tendrils of thoughts reaching into her mind-- water, darkness, the hot desperate fear not once but twice over, the blinding fear of death--

The vision faded with a flash of green, which startled her. She pulled her head away and swallowed her surprise at the green light in her eyes. “Stop it!” she snapped, holding the old woman’s hand away from her face by the wrist. “With respect,” she grit. “Do not do that again.”

She felt the atmosphere in the longhouse thicken, and shadows moved from where they leaned on the walls. Then the woman’s laughter cut through it all, both heads tilted back with toothless cackles. “Blazing, blazing, where are you burning bright, little Cahaya? Flying in the night sky - are you falling or soaring?”

“I’m waiting for you to make sense, is what I am,” Evelyn huffed, letting go of the bony wrist.

“I make sense, you don’t hear right,” she said, and her eyes turned to Solas. Their eyes lowered to the fire then. “How you seek your kith, you will enter the halls of the Gray Lady,” one head said, “There they keep them, and riled her. Lost, lost are the children of our tribe. The Gray Lady’s revenge.”

“That’s what we’re coming to help with,” Evelyn pressed, striving for sanity.

“Then you must know the Gray Lady,” replied the other head. “Know her and send her to sleep, know her, yes. Or our young are lost to her forever, as are your men.”

Evelyn frowned. “Is she a demon or…”

“She is more,” a head said.

“A spirit then,” Solas asked.

“More than that,” the other head replied. “Your tongue has no word for it. She IS. And she is angry. When she rages, the Wilds turn against us. Bleeding, bleeding, they bleed us for our sins past. Our sins against the Gray Lady. She was one of yours.”

A hand disappeared under her robe and emerged in a fist. “Know the Gray Lady,” both heads said in unison as the hand flicked a glittering dust into the flames. The fire blazed green then, and Evelyn felt her mark flaring upon her hand as the light seared beyond her eyelids. And then the world went white.

  
+++++

  
She opened her eyes to the sound of creaking rigging above her. She blinked in the green light, the air feeling crisp and tingly upon her skin. The sky overhead was green and yellow, as if sunlight shining through the green canopy of the Wilds. The castle loomed before her, rising like a scar amidst a landscape of towering green trees, their graying vines hanging down from spreading branches. She felt her breath catching in her throat, a rising sense of fear swelling inside her. Strange fears, old fears. Where was she? Why was this place terrifying? There was nothing here!

She swallowed, her hand on her armor, the cold metal bringing a sense of calm to her. She raised her eyes to the castle gate, barred before her, and walked towards it. The crunching of stone under her feet seemed to echo in the air. She touched the gate, its aging wood stained with mildew. She banged on it, and no sound was heard. Suddenly, as if standing in the centre of an the heavy wood began to thrum and shake. Evelyn backed away quickly, and her body was rocked with a blast of mana.

Then the world exploded.

Evelyn was thrown back down the path, her fall cushioned by her armor as darkness blazed overhead, sucking all the light from the air - black fire, burning shadows scattered bits of horrific meaty lumps across the green landscape. Evelyn stayed low, the blaze searing the back of her neck. A hand squelched on the ground as it landed beside her. She averted her eyes and looked up at last, the fire fading to reveal the figure beyond the gate. Kneeling upon the earth, clutching the ravaged body of a young girl, was a woman, wreathed in living shadow and fire, her eyes apertures of green as they glittered with her tears.

Evelyn forced herself to her feet, and another scream rocked the castle. She braced for the fire that came, her body wreathed in blue, the only thing that seemed real here, lyrium in her blood. Then the fire burned out. The shadowed woman wept, her cries guttural and broken, the song of loss through the ages as she clutched the body of the child to her chest, every cry glowing with green light from within her mouth.

“ _Tidak pernah,_ ” the woman wept. “ _Tidak pernah…_ ”

She began to lift the body of her child as he mouth opened, splitting her shadowed head all the way back as the green fire blazed from within her mouth.

And Evelyn watched in horror as she lifted the child and began to swallow her whole, the little girl’s head, eyes closed as if asleep, vanishing into the green fire.

“No!” Evelyn croaked.

A chain hung from the neck of the girl, a polished bead glittering in the light of the fire before it too was devoured.

“NO!” Her footsteps carried her forward of their own volition.

A hand grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her back, stopping her in her tracks. Shoulders of the child now vanishing…

“You cannot interfere!” a voice commanded, the arm wrapping around her, pulling her back with surprising strength as she struggled forward.

“Let go of me, Solas!” Evelyn wrenched at the arm.

“Herald! This is a memory, you cannot interfere, your mind cannot be entwined with this!”

Like being devoured by a serpent, the child was vanishing into the gaping maw of the hellish woman of shadows. “Stop!” Evelyn screamed. And then, as the child sank to her ankles, Evelyn saw one foot twitch.

“Stop!!”

Her throat burned raw as she gasped awake. She looked up at startled faces, illuminated in the light of a warm brazier. Her sweat plastered her hair to her face, and she was shaking, quivering with the memories of black fire, memories of her screams still hot in her throat. She swallowed, gripping the rush blanket that was set over her. She was lying on the floor of a small hut. “Evelyn,” Cassandra said, soothingly, leaning over her. The note of relief was unmistakable in her voice. “You’re awake - it was just a nightmare.”

Turik sat wordless by the brazier, silently cleaning fish. Bull and Varric hovered nearby. Evelyn let out a ragged breath and buried her face in her hands. “You passed out from that fire the old woman made,” Varric explained. “You’ve been asleep for hours.”

Evelyn said nothing, running her hand through her hair. She wasn’t in her armor, now donned only in her under tunic and breeches, and she didn’t care. She was still shaking. Being there, being in that place, seeing the girl… was she alive? Evelyn couldn’t tell at all. She drew a deep breath and sighed. “I feel gross,” she said then.

“Tossing and turning for hours will do that to you,” Bull supplied.

“Yeah? I feel like I just ran a marathon in full guard,” she winced, rubbing a shoulder. She stood up swiftly then, trying to shake the remnants of the dream from her mind, but failing. The world spun and a hand caught her shoulder. She chuckled. “Saving me again, Solas?” she asked, her voice croaking.

“Anytime necessary,” the elf smiled.

“I need to clean up a little,” she said. “Could you show me where the water barrel is?”

“Of course.” He led her outside the hut, and night had already fallen around, swirling clouds in the sky hiding the stars above, glowingly gently green in the light of the Breach. She was beginning to hate the colour now. She lifted a bucket of water from a sealed barrel and set it on a bench by the barrel.

The water she splashed on her face was so blessedly cool, even if it did whiff of swamp a bit. It did nothing to relieve her from the dream, however. She straightened up, water dripping from her hair and neck. “Right,” she said then. “It looked like you and I had a little Fade moment there, Solas.”

“You could call it that, yes,” Solas smiled.

She looked up at the swirling sky, her hands resting on her neck. “What was it?” she asked. “A dream?”

“Yes, and no.”

She groaned. “I am but a simple Templar, Solas,” she pouted. “Please simplify this for my simple Templar brain. We’re not supposed to ever be… I don’t know, active? Not in the Fade anyway. That was nothing I’ve ever experienced before.”

“It was a memory,” Solas explained. “A memory you entered through your dream, likely a result of the magic the seer utilised.”

“Was what I saw real?”

“It is an interpretation of reality,” Solas replied, leaning on his staff. “Nothing is real in the Fade. The woman you saw, and the child, they are likely a memory preserved by the arts of these people. They remind me greatly of elven dreamers who often walk the Fade, though to create such a detailed memory takes a remarkable amount of magical ability.”

“So scary two-headed lady made the fire give me a magic memory which I don’t even know is real?” she asked. She frowned. “Helpful.”

“Really?”

“No.” She swiped the water from her hair. “It just scared me half to death, what’s the point in that? All I know is that Turik owes me answers!” She paused and stared at the elf. “How is it you were there?”

“You forget what I do for enjoyment,” he replied.

She sighed. “True. And what would have happened if I had... Stupidly rushed forward?”

“Likely you would have found your mine entwined with the memory, and you would carry remnants of it for the rest of your life.”

The memory of the woman made of burning tendrils of darkness flashed in her mind and Evelyn shuddered. “Good thing you traipse around the Fade for fun then,” she said.


End file.
